by Rin Chupeco
“There is a way, or so it is said, to achieve immortality. But the ingredients we require are not as trite as happy or sad memories. Lineage is important. We require royal memories.” She chuckled at my confusion. “The legends talk of the five Great Heroes, descendants of Blade that Soars and Dancing Wind, who put down the first Great Daeva who roamed the land. But their slaying was incomplete, so the Great Daeva was split into seven lesser daeva instead.”
“I do not wish to sit here and listen to children’s tales, Aenah,” I said, fuming.
“This is far more than myth, Tea. For the Great Daeva’s bezoar granted immortality. Surely you do not go about collecting bezoars and still not believe that such a possibility exists?”
“But what does that have to do with nobles falling sick?” I asked impatiently.
“Not just any nobles—nobles who can trace their lineage back to the Five Great Heroes.”
I stared at her.
“Must I spell the rest out for you? I would take good care of your Odalian king if I were you. His family belongs to the house of Wyath, of the Great Hero Anahita’s line. A pity if that family should fall sick under unusual circumstances. Quite ominous circumstances for a betrothal, I’d think.”
“I require a memory from you,” I interrupted, refusing to rise to the bait.
“Oh? Does the young Heartforger have need of my assistance?”
“He requires a memory of an atrocity committed.”
“I can provide enough of those with more to spare.” She smiled. “But I would like something in exchange.”
“This is not a request. There will be no exchange.”
“Then I refuse. Perhaps when we have more to bargain with.”
“I could compel you.” That was not true. And heartforgers could not draw memories from the unwilling.
Oddly enough, she grinned. “Perhaps. There is nothing more exhilarating than the ability to impose your will on others. Do it, Tea. Compel my mind. I do not need to cast spells to know you wish to test your strength against mine, to see if you could make a better Faceless than me.”
I banged on the door, my signal that the interview was at an end, her morbid eagerness unsettling me. Aenah’s laughter rang through the halls before the doors slammed shut. My angry thoughts swimming out to Fox were the only answer he needed about the productivity of our session.
It was easy enough to find Polaire and Mykaela for consult. They were in the latter’s rooms, curtains half-drawn to allow in afternoon light, which surrounded Mykaela’s yellow locks in a golden haze. Polaire, whose short, dark hair had no patience for sunlight, arched an eyebrow at us.
“A plot against the king?” she asked. “What proof does she have?”
“What little she reveals has always proven true,” I pointed out. “It would be good to alert the Yadoshans in any case.”
“Did she say anything else about shadowglass?”
“A little. The Faceless believe it will bring them immortality and that it requires the bloodlines of the Five Great Heroes. There may be a connection to a few sleeping sicknesses in other kingdoms.”
Polaire frowned at me. “You must keep pushing, Tea. Compel words from her mouth if you have to.”
“Why do you think this is important?”
“Because the elders believe so, because she seems to think so, and because she is being deliberately ambiguous about it, which makes me uneasy,” Polaire responded.
“Aenah told me that the elder asha might know something about…” I paused, glancing back at Mykaela. “About Mykkie’s heartsglass. She insinuates that they might know where it is.”
Both asha stared at me.
“Impossible!” Polaire scoffed. “Aenah is not to be trusted, Tea.”
“You trust her enough when it comes to providing information on everything else,” Fox pointed out.
“Information we can verify. This smacks of an attempt to sow discord.”
Mykaela tapped a finger against her lips, looking thoughtful. “King Telemaine is not a descendant of House Wyath.”
“What do you mean?” Polaire asked.
Fox’s eyes widened. “King Randrall the Quiet, the dead king Tea raised by accident two years ago.”
“The one who declared that King Telemaine’s ancestor was the offspring of the queen and the commander of his army and therefore not of his lineage. We went through great lengths to have that confirmed,” I said.
“Doesn’t that affect King Telemaine’s claims to the throne?” Fox asked.
Mykaela shook her head. “King Randrall had no other surviving kin. He claimed the queen’s son as his own, so his legitimacy holds. Even so, Prince Kance and Khalad can still trace their line to House Wyath through their mother.”
“Politics are confusing,” my brother complained.
Polaire frowned. “We should launch our own investigation into that strange illness—which kingdoms have been affected and so forth. I’m surprised we have heard so little about it.”
“Kingdoms would not boast of it,” Mykaela said. “And they might not be aware of the connection.”
The shadows flitted through my mind again, and I saw wings beating on either side of me as the azi soared high into mountaintops that no human had ever scaled. The cold wind felt good on my face, but I closed my eyes, unprepared for the sun’s bright glare. I felt the azi nudge my mind affectionately. Master? it queried. Play?
“Tea? Are you OK?”
I felt a hand against my forehead. The mountains and the crisp air disappeared, leaving only the others looking back at me.
“She’s had a tiring day,” Fox said.
“You’re to return to your room and not leave it until dinnertime, Tea,” Polaire commanded. “We’ll look into the plot against the Yadoshans and these sicknesses.”
“But—”
“No buts, Tea! Go! And I’ll check up on you shortly to confirm you’re in bed as prescribed!”
Polaire always made me feel like I was a child of six, and I said as much to Fox as we left the room. “It was still my information. I would have appreciated a thank you at least.”
“She orders me about in much the same way. I haven’t met anyone who hasn’t gone through the same treatment when it comes to Polaire.”
But my mind remained ill at ease. The thought of having a black heartsglass like Aenah’s weighed heavily on my mind. How long did it take for silver to change? A month? A year? What other effects would it have on me?
Aenah was right about one thing: I had kept my links to the azi hidden from all, even my brother. I did not want to spend the rest of my life in the dungeons like her, left with a rotting heartsglass and no future to look forward to.
“He was blighted.” She was angry. Her fists clenched and unclenched. “I thought we’d found them all.”
“Blighted?”
“Spells that turn men into daeva-like creatures, most against their will. It is a consequence of darkrot—but this is different. Deliberate. I devoted nearly a year to hunting them down. Apparently, I did not find them all.”
I remembered the hanjian’s bulging eyes, his monstrous transformation before the azi ended his life. I knew it would haunt me for the rest of mine. What vile magic could have caused such a horrifying change?
“He knew he’d been Blighted. He completed the spell himself, to spite me…” She shook her head, almost admiring. “Silver-blighted are stronger than red, with far more frightening deviations. They kill even familiars, it is said. Slaughter them before they turn or rip out their heartsglass after they do. Perhaps he thought he would make a better opponent cursed than human.” Her lip curled. “He was wrong.”
Even here, the bone witch showed no respect for the deceased; her azi had carried the monstrous carcass away in its jaws, and now it lay on the ground before us. I was grateful for the heavy
cloak spread over it to spare the others from the grisly sight.
“Are you still angry?” She sounded amused. “Despite your travels, you are unseasoned by war.”
Blighted or not, she intended to kill that man and for me to watch him die. “You talk like a recipe exists to accustom one to death,” I said, bitter.
“Oh, but there is,” she responded. “Take a girl and remove her heart. Add a touch of tragedy and a thirst for vengeance. Divide her into equal parts of grief and rage, then serve her cold. This is not the worst deed you will see before the week is out. If you have changed your mind about our mission, then leave. I am not yet done.”
“I will stay,” I said shortly, rising to my feet. “I will see this through, for good or ill.”
Most of the soldiers had fled, and those who remained were too injured to follow. Kalen saw to their wounds, moving from one to another to offer aid, though they shrunk from him in fear.
The asha signaled to me. I heard the crunch of marble behind me as the aeshma, the smallest among the daeva, followed closely behind, only barely able to fit through the palace doors, dragging the blighted corpse along with it.
The palace had long been deserted, servants and nobles having fled at the castle’s breaching. No bodies lay strewn along the corridors and hallways, which was some consolation. The asha did not waver and moved confidently from one room to the next until we arrived before the throne.
I was mistaken. The castle was not completely deserted. Someone sat on the golden chair.
I had always seen him from a distance, as one face in a sea of many, looking on when parades and processions brought the emperor through the busy streets of Santiang. I heard that most who throng those crowds were carefully selected, trained to kneel at a command, spurring the rest to follow suit. Dissenters were carefully culled from the herd by his loyal guards, sometimes never to be seen again.
But even guards can be goaded into betrayal, and the sycophants had long since abandoned the emperor of Daanoris. Without heralds to sing of his fine looks and proud form, he lost much of his appeal. His brows sagged underneath a face puffy from vice and arrogance. There was a lack of symmetry in his cheekbones and shadows over his dark eyes. It was an attractive face but one eroded by years of pride and avarice.
He awaited the asha’s approach, unmoving and unyielding. She stopped before him, so close that her skirts brushed against his bright throne. The aeshma padded after her, dropping the corpse before the emperor.
“My people will not suffer this indignity.” I was surprised to hear the emperor speak the common tongue. His still-powerful voice boomed, echoing across the chamber. “Whatever monstrosities you wield, you will fall. My allies will—”
The asha’s hand slammed across the emperor’s face, depriving him of both breath and strength. He crumpled against his throne, and my stunned cry bounced off the marbled walls.
“‘Your people,’ Your Majesty?” On her lips, his title sounded like a mockery. Her fingers moved through the air, and the emperor froze. “Your people are scattered, unburdened from the yoke you impose on their necks and call freedom. Your allies? The madman sniveling on the throne of Drycht tolerates you only for the money you exchange for their runeberry cloth and their soldiers. Even now, he has broken your treaty and allies himself with Druj. You are alone. Send him here then if you please. I shall cut out his heart and sup on it and leave the dregs for my daeva.”
Kalen stepped forward and grasped the emperor of Daanoris by the hems of his robe. The man’s struggles were futile; the Deathseeker dragged him to a corner of the room with little effort, discarding him there like a sack of old clothes.
The asha settled herself on the gilded throne of Daanoris.
“Where did I leave off, Bard?”
5
A Heartsrune ceremony was also a celebration: children received their first heartsglass in their thirteenth year. Nobles and commoners alike looked on while asha summoned runes to fill heartscases with various colors of red. Occasionally, a lucky child would see their hearts turn purple, singling them out for the artisan’s life, inexorably entwined with those of an asha’s. They would become apothecaries who create beauty, accessory makers who churn out zivar, and ateliers to cloth asha in the latest fashions—even village witches, like my sisters.
The unluckiest of the bunch would find their heartsglass shine silver and would be required to turn themselves over to the asha-ka association the following day, an asha’s apprenticeship awaiting the girls and a Deathseeker’s novitiate for the boys.
Drawing Heartsrune was a relatively easy task even for someone with Mykaela’s poor health. I would have preferred that she remained in bed, but I understood her need to be useful. Polaire had been just as hesitant. The brunette hovered close by like a mother hen in case Mykaela should falter. She did not.
Odalians were suspicious of asha but tolerated them for the historical ties Odalian royalty shares with the spellbinders. But Dark asha are a separate category altogether, and for them, the people’s hatred runs deep. Attuned as I was to heartsglass, I felt the differing emotions running through the audience. Their contempt for bone witches like Mykaela and me—the only two surviving in all the kingdoms—was plain to see, and they felt secure in the knowledge that, in crowds, it was safe to hate without repercussions. Not for the first time, I wondered how Mykaela managed to do this year after year.
Four hundred and twenty-six children turned up for the event, and as we neared the end of the line, my sister-asha had found seven purple heartsglass and three silver. It was not those children I worried for. All the silvers were girls. My trepidation was for Likh, who was among the last of those waiting. There was no need for Mykaela to trace Heartsrune for him; his was already a blinding silver. But due to his unusual circumstances, he had yet to hold his own Heartsrune ceremony, and it could no longer be delayed.
Deathseekers were even rarer than asha, bone witches the only sect more limited in number. Likh was the only Deathseeker found in the last two years, and that realization was not lost on our audience. Heads craned in his direction, their expressions a mixture of derision and confusion. Likh served as an apprentice for Chesh, the popular zivarmaker, and was dressed in his apprentice robes. And yet, looking at his graceful features and slender frame, one would find it difficult to see him as male.
Mykaela’s pace did not slow. She bowed gravely to the young boy, and Likh returned her gesture with solemnity. His resigned expression turned to one of amazement when other asha stepped forward: first Polaire and Zoya, then Shadi and Zoya’s friends Yonca, Sveta, and Tami. And then to my surprise, Altaecia stepped forward from the crowd; as Princess Inessa’s bodyguard, I thought she was in Kion, looking after her ward.
As much as I wanted to, I made no move to join them. The Odalians will not treat a bone witch’s opinion with the same merits they would an asha’s. I watched my sisters surround the startled Likh. Lady Mykaela moved back, quietly losing herself in the crowd of courtiers and nobles, as Polaire slid a beautiful diamond-studded zivar out of her short brown hair and gently tucked it behind the boy’s ear.
The other asha followed suit, taking off their beautiful hairpieces and placing them on Likh. There were gasps from the crowd, the implication obvious. We had lodged numerous appeals to the asha-ka association to admit Likh to the asha, with little success. Now Polaire and the others were making their protests public for all to see.
Likh trembled. His gaze turned in my direction, and I responded with a tiny, supportive wave.
Prince Kance stepped forward. He was dressed in the Odalian royal uniform, ceremonial clothes of golden buttons and silver embroidery worn only for coronations or royal weddings. He bowed low to the awestruck boy.
If that is not approval enough, then nothing else will sway the association to our side, Fox murmured in my head.
The prince turned toward King Telemaine. I gl
anced back at the crowd and saw Khalad among those watching, his face set and angry as he stared at his father.
Mykaela had quietly resurfaced beside us. I tugged at her sleeve. “Why is Althy here?” I whispered.
“The First Daughter arrived from Kion a few hours ago,” she whispered back. “Althy was quite keen to take part in the festivities. Given her position, her actions carry the empress’s support as well.”
“Nobody told me about this.” I felt a little hurt.
It was her turn to look startled. “Didn’t Polaire tell you?”
“No. And Prince Kance too?”
“He offered. This will lend more credence to our petition. The association will want the prince’s support on other issues and may be more amenable as a result.”
“And so ends our Heartsrune day,” King Telemaine announced in a grave voice. “Younglings: use your heartsglass well, and choose your paths wisely. Let today be the first day of the rest of your lives. I know that it will be the first day of the rest of mine.”
A faint murmur ran through the crowd, unsure of what he meant.
“Today is a day for celebrations,” he continued. “It is only fitting that I announce another. Kance.”
Obediently, the crown prince stepped forward, his confusion was obvious. “Father? You still haven’t—”
“I am honored to have the lovely Princess Inessa here in Odalia to celebrate Heartsrune Day with us. Kion has always been our staunchest ally, and together we have worked to bring peace and prosperity to our respective kingdoms. Today, we will officially cement our long alliance.”
A beautiful young woman joined the prince and his father. She wore a magnificent hua of amber and white, with sleeves that trailed past her arms the way royal princesses from Kion wore them, and her train flared out several yards behind her. The lower half of her face was veiled, as was customary, though the sheer lace was transparent enough for her delicate features to be seen. I heard Fox draw in a sharp breath beside me. Shock flared through the bond we shared before he swiftly hauled it back.
